When Manhattan Met Brooklyn
by The Warrior Sif
Summary: The only Manhattan newsies that Spot Conlon deals with are Jack and Race. A look back at how they met, eight years before the strike, when neither Jack nor Spot were leaders and Race just wants to sell at the racetracks. Part 1 of the No Deal Timeline. (Originally Posted to AO3)
1. Old Friend, Another Day, Same Routine

**Race**

The day starts off normal enough, with the ring of the morning bell signaling the newsies that it is time to wake and gather at the distribution gates to pick up the morning papes. Race slides his legs around so that his feet hang off the edge of his bunk and starts tugging on his worn boots before tying off the laces tight enough that the slightly too-large boots won't slip off his feet.

With that finished, he taps his feet together and slides off his top bunk to the floor with a solid thunk, enjoying the sensation of flying in the couple of seconds he hangs mid-air and feeling a smile spread across his face at the simple pleasure.

"Hey!" Race hears Jack exclaim from behind him. Race turns to find the older newsie, his first and best friend in the boarding house, still seated, yawning and rubbing at his tired eyes, on the bunk beneath his. "You's gonna scare me to death one of these days Racetrack. A little warning next time maybe?"

Race playfully sticks his tongue out at Jack as he tugs on his suspenders. "Make me," he jests. He and Jack have nearly the exact same conversation every morning so it's no surprise when Jack responds by smacking Race across his side with his grey newsie cap. Race doesn't bother dodging the blow.

It is a routine that Race is slowly acclimating to and learning to enjoy. Life as a newsie left little time for fun or room for smiles, but he was finding time and room for both. He especially enjoys when he manages to make any of the other newsies smile, especially Jack. Jack is tough and generally resistant to anything fun, but Race is slowly worming his way through his friend's cracks. Yesterday, he got him to smile; well, not frown, three whole times. He is immensely proud of the fact.

"You keep doing it and one day I might just try," Jack moans out as he tugs on his boots. Race notes the small smirk on his friend's face and is pretty sure that means he's joking. It is always hard to tell with Jack. At least he hopes his friend in joking because Jack is certainly the more competent fighter of the two of them.

Race sticks his tongue out again and is about to continue with more banter when Pickles comes up to the pair, frowning, and commands, "Come on you two, there's no time for this. We need to be going or we'll be late."

"Aw, come on Pickles, we's old enough to get ourselves there on time," Jack whines as he finishes lacing up his boots.

Race could almost laugh at the look of disdain on Pickles' face when he holds up one finger and replies, "You's nine", another finger shoots up, "he's seven," a third finger joins the array, "and the last time I left you alone you got yourself disappeared for three months. So that's a no."

Race watches Jack freeze for a moment before giving Pickles one of his signature glares as he finally rises from his bunk, pulling on his suspenders as he does so, and grabs his cap and waistcoat before stalking past Race and towards the door. Pickles gives Race a bored glare that he squirms under as he sneaks past the Manhattan leader and out the door of the boarding house that Jack had just exited through moments earlier. He hopes Jack hasn't run off too far yet. He's the only newsie that will go with him to sell at the racetrack and if he can't catch up with him, he'll be stuck trying to find a vacant selling spot in Manhattan for the day.

He may have been a newsie for nearly a year now, but the thought of selling alone still terrifies him. One of his mama's two rules had been 'never go somewhere you don't know all alone', the only other one being 'if you don't understand something, make sure you ask so you can understand in the future'. He definitely knew the way to the racetrack well enough by now and even had some regular buyers once he was there, but something about being all alone still scares him. He sometimes finds himself worrying that if he goes out alone, Jack and the other newsies won't be around when he gets back to the boarding house.

That's how it'd been with his mama and papa. He'd been sent over to a friend's house to play and then they'd been gone when he'd gotten back for supper. All the furniture and their belongings were still there, but the house itself was ghostly. He'd sat outside on the porch for, well, he doesn't even know how long, before someone had eventually noticed his failure to move across that period of time and had taken him. Lucky for him, that person had been Jack and he'd brought him back to the newsie boarding house and he'd been there ever since. The next time he'd walked by his old house, a new family had been sitting on the front porch enjoying their evening meal.

Race physically shakes the memories from his head as he runs to catch up to Jack, who is silently stalking along next to Specs. Upon looking at his friend's face, Race frowns to see a mixture of anger and almost pain evident from the red flush in Jack's cheeks and the furrowed set of his brow. His eyes are glazed though, as if at risk of shedding tears. It contrasts the fists clenched at his sides.

Race yearns to hug his friend, the desire strong enough that he can feel himself drifting in Jack's direction and he has to correct himself, but he knows better. He doesn't know why Jack gets like this when Pickles (and on one occasion, Specs) mentions that three-month disappearance, but it's what happens. He hadn't known better the first time Jack had gotten like this, but he'd run right up to him, hugged him, and asked him what was wrong, just like his mama had taught him how to do when he could see someone was hurting. Jack had harshly pushed him away and disappeared for the rest of the evening only to show up the next morning at the distribution gate with a soft apology, dark circles under his eyes from a sleepless night, and his sleeves pulled down to his wrists even in the too-hot weather.

He settles with silently walking at his friend's side the rest of the way to the distribution gate, then trailing behind him as they line up to get their stacks of papes. When Jack aimlessly and silently starts making his way out of the distribution gates, Race very consciously walks at his side so that Jack has the chance to recognize he's there. That's how most of the morning goes: walking through the streets of Manhattan side by side in near silence, selling papes to the people who come up to them.

Race thinks they are heading towards the racetrack, maybe. If they are heading that direction, Jack is taking the most backwards side street filled route possible and has gotten Race thoroughly lost. He takes extra care to stay at Jack's side.

When they get to an empty street, Race hears Jack speak for the first time since this morning at the boarding house. "Sorry Race. You's didn't do nothing and I shouldn't be ignoring ya." Jack has his hands firmly stuffed in his pockets as he stares down at his feet that he's scuffing along the ground. "I don't know why Pickles…It shouldn't bother…It really wasn't…" He starts several sentences and finishes none of them. "Just it ain't you Race. You's good."

Race is stunned in to silence by Jack's confession, as unnecessary as it is. He takes it as permission that touch is finally okay and steps in front of Jack, who doesn't see him because he's still staring at his feet as if they're the most interesting things in the world, and envelops him in a hug. He feels Jack initially tense at the contact, but smiles when Jack relaxes and returns the hug for a few moments. He eventually pulls away and ruffles Race's hair through the newsie cap he'd won from Blue in a card game just last week.

"You's good too Jack," Race smiles as they continue walking down the empty street. Jack turns and gives him a confused look, but otherwise remains silent. "And…and…" It's Race's turn to look down at his feet and feign interest in them, "and if yous ever wants to talk…. I'll be here. Maybe it'll help." Worried he's just inadvertently asked Jack to talk before he want to, he tacks on, "When you wants. If you ever wants to. You don't have to." He feels a hand come to rest on his shoulder and has to double check that it is indeed Jack's. Jack very rarely initiated contacted with him, or anyone really, so far as he's noticed.

"Thanks Race. Not now, but I'll keep it in mind." Jack somberly says before returning his hand to his pocket.

Race gets the impression that Jack has no plans of ever talking with him about those three months, but now Jack knows he can talk to him, so he leaves it be. He's content just being happy that Jack didn't push him away this time.

They eventually make it to the racetracks and they both quickly empty their bags of papes before spending some time watching the horses warm-up and guessing which one will win the event this weekend. Race loves this, thrives on it even, even if Jack's guesses are awful. The one horse he picks to win is clearly limping.

When it appears that the last horse had finished with its runs for the day, the pair sit in silence on the stone wall outside the tracks for a bit. Of course, the track itself is not silent, with the jockeys and owners and businessmen still going about their days, but it is near silence enough. Race thinks the stables must not be too far away from the track, as he can hear some of its occupants neighing from way out where he is sitting.

"Yous ever dream about what it'd be like to ride one of them race horses? It would be like flying with how fast theys go," Race asks.

Jack huffs. "In a ways I guess." Race waits for his friend to explain. "It don't matter how fast the horse would go, I'd point it out of this city and ride it West as far as it could take me."

"Why West? What's out there?" Race inquisitively asks.

"Mainly cause it's not here. No big buildings and tiny streets or…" Jack trails off, looking a bit lost before finishing with, "There's big wide open spaces and friendly peoples. That's all that matters."

Race shrugs, "I guess. Still think it would be cooler to go fast though."

"Running on my own two feet's plenty fast for me," Jack counters.

Race laughs, "You can't even run that fast!"

"Says who?" Jack sounds as if he is mocking offense.

"Says me," Race challenges with a baring grin.

Jack pointedly looks up at the sky before grabbing Race's hat with, "We'll see about that!" He leaps down from the wall and starts running off down one of the side streets. "Catch me if you can!" He calls back to the still sitting Race.

Race smiles and leaps down from where he's been sitting on the brick wall to chase after Jack. It only takes him a couple seconds to catch up to him, but Jack remains just a couple yards ahead for several minutes, laughing as he keeps the lead. Race grins even wider when he sees the genuine smile on Jack's face when he looks back every couple blocks to make sure Race is keeping up. A real smile.

Suddenly, Race follows Jack around a corner and slams right in to his back. "What…?" He questions as he blinks the spots out of his vision and rubs at his nose. Jack jumps to the side and pulls him behind a dumpster. Race looks to his friend for an explanation and is sad to see the smile and laughter is gone from Jack's face. "Why…?" He begins to ask again before Jack shushes him.

He watches as Jack carefully leans around the edge of the dumpster to observe something down the alleyway. Race copies the movement, ducking in to the space just under Jack's head. He's not quite sure what he's seeing. Well, no, he knows what he's seeing but not why Jack's making them hide. Down at the end of the alleyway are two police officers fighting with what must be one of the Brooklyn newsies, considering they were well in to their territory now. The newsie can't be much older than them but is a bit taller than Jack and him. His youth shows in the thinness of his limbs, probably obtained by a recent growth spurt. It was obvious that despite his efforts, he was losing this fight.

When the newsie is downed and each of the police officers grab hold of one of his arms, Race hears Jack whisper out some profanities under his breath before pulling back from the edge of the dumpster.

"Jack, why…?" He begins to ask again, but to his annoyance, Jack cuts him off again.

Jack forces him to look at him and Race can see his eyes wide with fear? Maybe adrenaline? He's not sure. Jack puts his hands on Race's shoulders. "Race. I'm gonna do something stupid." Race opens his mouth to object but Jack just continues speaking, "You stay here and when both the guards are gone you go and check on the kid okay?" Jack quickly peeks back around the dumpster before returning his gaze to Race.

When he apparently doesn't respond quick enough, Jack shakes him a little. "Okay, but-"

"If he's good to move, get him to take you back towards the Brooklyn boarding house-he should know the way. If not-" Jack is interrupted by a yelp from down the alley. Jack curses again and pushes Race in to the corner created by the wall and the dumpster. "Stay here until it's clear."

Race numbly watches as Jack jumps up and runs off back down the alleyway, leaving Race confused, conflicted, and alone. He strains his ears to try and hear anything from the direction Jack disappeared down. He hears what sounds like a punch, a yelp of pain, and an older man, presumably one of the police officers yelling 'Jack Kelly!' before three sets of feet run pounding out of the alleyway.

Race sits there in the new silence, feeling his blood race through him with each resounding heartbeat. When he is sure that everything's clear, just like Jack said, he dares to peek around the corner of the dumpster to see what remains of the situation. Down at the end of the alleyway lies the Brooklyn newsie, now alone.


	2. A New Friend

**Race**

Race stays planted at the edge of the dumpster in shock, silently watching the body of the Brooklyn newsie. No, he corrects himself; body is not the right word. That implies death and he doesn't want to even think about that boy being dead. He could know for sure if he just went over and checked on the boy, but it feels like his feet have sunk in to the ground.

His mind swirls with unanswerable questions. What just happened? Where is Jack? Is he okay? Why were the police after the Brooklyn newsie? Was he even a Brooklyn newsie? He looks like one, but that doesn't mean anything for sure. Race clenches his hands and lets his fingernails painfully dig in to his palms in an effort to just make the questions stop. He doesn't have time to try and find answers right now.

He needs to do what Jack said. What did Jack say? "Check on the kid…if he's okay have him take you to the Brooklyn boarding house…if not…" he mumbles to himself. What if he's not okay?! He lets out an exasperated groan before slamming his mouth shut, forgetting his goal to stay silent. Jack didn't finish telling him what to do before doing whatever he did that got the police to call out his name and chase after him. Hey, how did the police know Jack's name? Race digs his fingernails harder in to his palms. "Not now Racer. Do what Jack said. Check on the kid. Then you can look for answers."

Race pulls himself around the edge of the dumpster and starts making slow progress towards the Brooklyn newsie. He remains hunched over in an attempt to remain hidden, even though he's now in plain sight of anyone walking by either end of the alley.

He can make out more of the boy's features the closer he gets. He'd been right earlier, when he had assumed the newsie was a taller than him and Jack, but up close he can tell he wouldn't exactly tower over either of them. He is skinny, a signature newsie trait for sure, but extra so as if his already skinny limbs had been pulled a couple of inches longer. Short, messy, dark brown hair frames his face, which Race can already tell is going to be sporting some bruises in a couple hours. His eyes are closed though, but clearly not in sleep. Race doesn't have the words to explain what makes this different than sleep, but there's just something wrong about it; too motionless.

Race falls in to a kneeling position at the boy's side, ignoring the gravel that pierces his knees through his thin pants. Without a thought, he extends his arm to place a hand on the boy's shoulder in an attempt to wake him. There's no reaction. He softly shakes the other boy. No reaction. His heart starts to speed up as he begins to worry that the boy might not wake up. Getting a bit desperate, he places his other hand on the boys other shoulder and roughly shakes the boy.

Suddenly, Race finds himself on his back and out of breath.

"What the 'ell?" A new voice, presumably the other boy groans out.

Race shoots up in to a sitting position to find the other boy sitting much the same, except rubbing the back of his head with one of his hands. Overcome with joy that the other boy is in fact not dead, he launches himself forward to envelop the other boy in a hug.

Only to find two hands firmly plant themselves on his chest and pushing him away.

"Who the 'ell are you?" The other boy scowls before looking around, "and where the 'ell did the bulls go?"

Race smiles, still elated that the other boy is not dead, "Oh! I'm Racetrack but everyone calls me Race and-"

"Slow down. I ain't gonna understand a thing yous saying when yous talking that fast." The other boy interrupts as he returns his right hand to rubbing a bump on his head.

Race's smile only slightly falters as he tries to remain conscious of his talking speed, "Sorry. So yeah, I'm Race. My friend Jack did, well I don't know what, and got the bulls to chase 'im away from yous-"

"Yous friend Jack's an idiot." The other boy scowls as he plants his hands on the ground to push himself on to his feet. Apparently his feet aren't ready to be stood on yet though cause he wobbles for a moment before falling back to the ground. He curses under his breath; just like Jack does.

Race catches the boy's elbow as he stumbles back to the ground. "Jack's no idiot! He's my best friend and one of the best sellers in 'hattan." The other boy groans but doesn't say anything further and they sit in tense silence for a moment. "What's your name? You knows mine but I don't knows yours."

"Spot." Race envelops his new friend Spot in a hug again. Only for Spot to push him away. Again. Race frowns and scoots a couple of inches away from Spot.

"Yous a Brooklyn newsie?" Race solemnly asks.

"Yeahs-" Spot begins to answer, before he's cut off.

Jack comes running down the alley before dropping down to his knees next to him. "Race! I told yous to get him to the Brooklyn boarding house!"

"Wells I thought he was dead, then he woke up, then he asked me questions and tried to get up but he fell over-"

"Race, you's got to talk slower than that," Jack gets out between heavy breaths.

"He always talking that fast?" Spot asks Jack.

"No!" Race interjects before Jack can confirm Spot's question. "Oh yeahs. Jack. Spot. Spot. Jack," he introduces the pair, using his hand to gesture to each boy as he names them. Upon looking at Jack again, Race sees he has a split lip, which is dripping blood down his chin. Race pulls Jack in for a hug. "What happened?!"

"Not now Race," Jack pants as he pats Race on the shoulder and squirms out of Race's embrace.

"You's an idiot," Spot starts again, but this time directly to Jack.

Race can see Jack start to bristle. "You'sd rather I'd let them get you and drag you off to tha Refuge?"

"I can take care of myself-"

"Well obviously not-"

"Is that a challenge-"

"Stop!" Race all but screams, desperately wanting the pair to get along.

"He's the one who started it," Jack mumbles as he uses his sleeve to wipe the blood off his chin.

"Whatever," Spot counters.

Race is just happy that the pair seems to have come to a momentary truce, as tense as it may be.

"So yous a Brooklyn newsie?" Jack breaks the silence.

"As I just told ya friend here, yeahs," Spot moans out as he looks towards the darkening sky. "Elph's probably wonderin' where I ams by now."

"Elf? Like those little Santa's helper people that show up around the holidays?" Race asks, absolutely dumbfounded as to why anyone would take that name.

"No idiot. Elph's short for Elephant. Like those big gray animals with the long noses that come 'round with the circus every year or so," Spot clarifies.

"Race ain't no idiot; he was just askin' a question," Jack interjects and Race feels a little bit of pride that Jack would defend him like that.

"Whatevers," Spot grumbles as he tries to get to his feet again.

Jack beats Race to his feet and grabs a hold of Spot's arm to keep him steady once he's up. "You's okay to be walkin'?" Jack seriously asks.

"I's fine," Spot protests, yanking his arm out of Jacks grip, but his first couple of steps are unsteady.

"Race and I'll walk ya back to yer bourdin' house just be sure," Jack says as he motions for Race to get up and walk with them. Race jumps up and rushes over to Jack's side and matches his pace to those of his friends. Spot huffs at Jack's insistence, but doesn't otherwise openly object.

The trio walks for a few blocks in silence and Race just can't stand it so he asks one of the questions swirling through his mind, "Jack?" Jack hums in acknowledgement so Race continues, "What's the Refuge? Is that where the bulls were gonna take Spot if you hadn't distracted them?"

Even though they're not currently touching, Race can feel Jack tense up beside him. "I would of thought you'd have heard of the place by now Racer."

"Well I hasn't," Race objects, frustration growing inside him at Jack's hesitation. He looks over at Spot to see if he has any answers, but the Brooklyn newsie simply shakes his head no.

"It's a jail for kids, except they's don't got ta make sure ya done anything wrong 'fore they lock you up in there. Tha city pays them for every kid they got in there so if they's out and ya look like an easy target, they makes up some crime for ya and lock ya up." Jack falls silent.

Race doesn't know what to say to that. The police had always scared him when he was littler and his mama had always reassured him that they were just there to get bad people off the streets and to keep everyone else safe. Race had taken her word for it, but Jack wasn't a bad person was he? He seemed the opposite actually, always making sure Race and everyone was alright. And he had just saved Spot, so Jack definitely couldn't possibly be a bad person.

"Ya sound like yous talking from experience," Spot interjects Race's thoughts and breaking the silence as they turn another street corner.

Jack doesn't respond immediately and when Race looks up to his friend, he sees a look similar to that of this morning's. "Yeah," Jack all but whispers. "They's gotten me twice now." He refuses to meet Race's eyes and focuses on kicking a pebble along the path in front of them. "It's-it's not a good place."

"Then why'd you put yerself at risk of being sent back there for me- a guy yous never even met before?" Spot asks as he lays a hand on Jack's shoulder. Race watches Jack freeze for a moment before shrugging off Spot's hand.

Jack shrugs, "I'd rather go back there than have someone else have to live through that. Being there messes with yer head."

Race, sensing the tension and noticing Jack beginning to dig his nails in to his forearm again, decides it's time to change the subject. Even if he does have loads more questions about the Refuge. "So is Elph the Brooklyn newsie leader? Our leader's name is Pickles."

"Yeah, he's the king of Brooklyn," Spot answers.

"King? Like the king and queen of England?" Race asks. "How come Pickles isn't called the king of Manhattan then?" He looks to Jack with the second question.

"Cause Pickles don't like being so formal. Anyways we lives in America and we don't have kings and queens here," Jack huffs.

"Except for Brooklyn," Race amends.

"Except for the Brooklyn newsies apparently," Jack confirms, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Having the king makes things more organized," Spot interjects. "We's got everything planned out for when Elph leaves or something happens to him. Do you know who's gonna lead ya when yer leader is gone?"

"Jack will lead us!" Race answers with a broad smile.

Jack dryly laughs, "Nuh-uh Race. I ain't the leaderin' type. Specs has been 'round longer anyways."

"See? Yous don't even know," Spot smiles.

"How much farther to yer boarding house? If we's don't get back to our own soon, Pickles will have my head," Jack asks.

Spot looks around, "'Bout two more blocks maybe." A pause. "Why's yer leader only gonna be after yer head? Why not this little kid too?" Spot asks as he pats Race's head.

"Hey! You ain't that much taller than me!" Race objects. Spot responds by ruffling his hair.

Jack pulls Race out from under Spot's hand, "I's the older one and supposed to be watchin' after Race here. Pickles already don't like it that I take him so far as the racetracks to sell and if we's back too late he'll be tryin' to put an end to that again."

"The racetracks? That's a long ways from 'hattan. Why's you sellin' all the ways out there?" Spot asks.

Jack shrugs, "Race likes ta watch the horses. He's pretty good at guessin' which one's gonna win too. Also we've been over there so much he's startin' to get some regulars, which is more than I can say."

Spot hums in response.

Race is glad that the Brooklyn boarding house isn't too much farther. He would never admit it out loud, but his feet hurt and he's tired. They walk in silence a couple more blocks before coming to a stop at the door of a tall building. Before Race has a chance to ask if this is the Brooklyn boarding house, an older kid steps through the doors and glares his trio down, before focusing on Spot.

"Oh look, little prince Spot finally decided to return home," the older newsie asks.

Spot growls, "Shut it Stripe." The boy, Stripe apparently, stalks back in to the building.

Jack's silently laughing beside Race, "Prince? No wonder yous so defensive of the King thing."

"You can shut it too Jack," Spot growls.

"Prince?" Race asks silently. "So yous gonna lead Brooklyn someday?"

"If no one unseats me before then, then yeahs I guess," Spot answers, crossing his arms as he does so.

"Where's you been Spot and who's these?" A new, very, very tall newsie asks from the doorway. Race has to crane his head upwards to see the boy's face. He assumes this must be Elph.

"Awww, some bulls caught me down an alley over by the border. These idiots chased 'em off and walked me back here to make sure I made it," Spot answers nonchalantly.

Elph smiles, "Spot, if they's saved ya then yous the idiot not them." He turns to look down at Race and Jack, "So what's yer names boys and where ya from?"

Jack clears his throat, "Um, I'm Jack and this is Race. We's from 'hattan."

Elph's smile falters a bit, "You weren't sellin' in Brooklyn were yas?"

"No…sir, we's was just playing, seeing who's the faster runner, once we finished selling. Must have crossed the border without noticin'." Jack responds.

Elph laughs, "None of that 'sir' business kid. I's a newsie just like you, don't make me feel old." Race and Jack both smile uncomfortably. "Thanks you boys for getting Spot back here all right. You good to get back to Manhattan on your own?"

"Yes…Elph," Jack confirms.

"Well I'm headin' to bed then," Elph finishes. "Spot, thank these boys before coming in please," the taller boy commands as he walks back through the door.

Race looks to Spot, who's staring at where Elph had just stood moments before. "I's not so good with words as Elph, but, yeah, thanks for savin' me from the bulls earlier and gettin' me back here." He extends his hand to Jack, who gingerly shakes it. When he extends it towards Race, he ducks around it and hugs Spot instead. Spot doesn't return the hug, but doesn't push him away either this time.

Race feels a hand on his shoulder, presumably Jack's, and he's gently being pulled away from Spot. There's an uncomfortable silence before Jack says, "Well we best get goin' Race. Pickles is gonna be waitin' up for us." They start walking back away from the Brooklyn boarding house.

"Jack, Race, maybe I's see you 'round," Spot calls after them. When Race looks back to respond, he's already gone; disappeared in to the towering Brooklyn boarding house.

Jack and Race walk in silence side by side, elbows barely brushing, as they make their way back towards Manhattan. Just as they cross over the border in to Manhattan, Race comments, "I thought Elph would be scary, but he's nicer than Pickles."

Race can barely see Jack shrug as they enter in to a dark alley, "I guess. They's different peoples with different 'xperiences – can't compare them much."

There's weave through a few more blocks in silence. "Jack?"

"Yes Race?"

"Ummm…so…you know…" Race begins, unsure of how exactly to ask Jack his question.

"Race, norm'ly I's got ta tell ya to slow down, but can ya just spit it out?"

"Those three months Pickles mentioned this morning…were you in the Refuge?" Race finally gets out.

Jack sighs, which Race guesses is one of the better reactions he could have had to his question. "Yeah. It was my first day sellin' by myself and one of the bulls caught me; recognized me from when I 'scaped the first time." Jack starts digging his nails in to his forearm again, so Race grabs his hand to swing between them instead.

"But you's out now and you don't sell alone; you sell with me," Race counters.

"You's right Race and I worries every day that they'll find me and take you too," Jack sadly comments, his hand limp in Race's grip.

"You outran them today though, you can outrun them again," Race counters, wanting to bring some of his friend's confidence back.

Jack doesn't answer and the remaining couple of blocks towards the boarding house are finished in silence. When they reach the dark boarding house, Jack goes for the fire escape on the side instead of for the door.

"Where's ya goin?" Race asks, confused.

"I's not in tha mood for a lecture from Pickles tonight Race. I'll be up on the roof if ya needs me," Jack responds as he hoists himself up on the ladder and starts making his way upwards.

Race watched until his friend disappears beyond the edge of the roof before making his way inside the boarding house and up to his bunk. Pickles is sitting on Jack's bunk waiting for him and Race watched his face fall from anger to something almost sad, "Race, where's Jack? Where you been?"

Race yawns, "We's saved a Brooklyn newsie from some bulls. Jack's fine." Race doesn't really think Jack is fine, but Pickles doesn't need to know that.

At mention of the bulls, Pickles' eyebrows raise, "Race, you okay?" Race nods. "Where's Jack now?"

Race debates whether he should really answer Pickles or not, but Jack hadn't said he couldn't tell Pickles, "He don't want a lecture. He's up on the roof."

Pickles puts a hand on Race's shoulder, "Thanks kid. Get some sleep now, okay?" Race nods.

He climbs up to his bunk and lays down, not even bothering to take his shoes off. He feels his eyelids drooping in need of sleep, but watches as Pickles climbs out the window and up towards the roof – towards Jack. He feels bad that Jack's probably getting the lecture he'd been trying to avoid and hopes Jack won't be too mad at him.

He's woken a bit later by the sound of the window opening again as Pickles leads Jack back inside. Jack drags his feet towards his bed and falls down on to it, shaking the whole bunk. Race leans his head over the side to look down at Jack. "Sorry Jack," he whispers.

"'S fine kid, go to sleep," Jack's voice comes out mumbled from his face being stuffed in to his pillow.

Things don't feel fine, but Race does as Jack asks and lies back down. Exhaustion eventually kicks in and he falls back asleep.


	3. A New Day

**Race**

Race is woken by shaking. "Mornin' bell hasn't rung yet; let me go back to sleep," he whines out to his assailant.

"Rung like five minutes ago Racer; the day's begun and yous got to get up," he hears Jack's tired voice from somewhere beside him. Race drearily lifts his head from his pillow to find Jack hunched over beside him, feet lazily swinging off the edge of his bunk. He momentarily wonders how his friend got up on his bunk without waking him. There are dark circles under Jack's eyes and he wonders if he has matching ones; it feels like he should.

He pushes himself up in to a sitting position, "You sleep at all Jackie?" He asks as he makes a useless attempt at rubbing his hair down in to something less wild.

Jack shrugs before changing the subject entirely, "Come on Racer, if we beats Pickles out the door we should be able to get to the tracks in time to sell during the races today; see if that horse you picked is actually gonna win."

Race chooses to ignore Jack's obvious diversion; too excited about the prospect of seeing the races today. Lucky for him, he pretty much went to bed dressed from the previous night, so he just tugs his cap on his head before sliding off the bunk. "Certainly gonna do better than that horse you picked, if yours even races at all," he smirks up at Jack; however, it turns to a smile when he sees Jack smirk as well.

He watches Jack slide down off the bunk, landing beside him with a solid thud. He tugs at the end of shirtsleeves before wrapping an arm around Race's shoulder, "We'll see about that." He gives Race a friendly shake before releasing him, sticking his hands in his pockets, and continuing to walk through the crowd of newsies towards the door.

Race stands in place, dumbfounded, for a moment. This was not the Jack Kelly he was expecting this morning, considering the events of last night. A smile and initiating contact within seconds of each other? Who was this guy and what'd he do with his friend?

He runs to catch up to Jack, who is sauntering down the street outside of the boarding house, walking in the general direction of newsie square. Race gently tugs at Jack's arm, trying to pull his hand out of his pocket so he can hold it. Jack eventually relents and the pair walk in silence the rest of the way to the distribution gate, arms slowly swinging between them.

They're the first ones to buy their papes and just like yesterday, they hawk them on their way to the racetrack. Today, however, Jack takes them a much more direct route; one that Race is more familiar with. That doesn't mean the route is without alleyways they cut through and as they walk down one eerily similar to the one they found Spot in yesterday, Race has an idea.

"Hey, Jack?" He asks.

"What can I do ya for Racer," Jack responds as he readjusts the papes in his bag.

"I was just thinking-"

"That's a dangerous thing to be doin'," Jack interrupts, "but I don't see no smoke, so ya must not be thinkin' too hard."

Race punches Jack in the arm, "Hey! That's not nice!" He whines.

Jack puts his hands up in surrender, "So what's got ya thinkin' Racer?"

"Well, yesterday ya said ya worried if the bulls found ya they'd take me too-"

Race watches as Jack straightens his back and shoulders. "Why's ya got to be thinkin' about that? It's not good thoughts ta be dwellin' on. Ain't gonna do ya any good"

Race scrunches up his face in confusion, "But yous said ya worry about it all the time. That means yous thinkin' about it!"

Jack lets out an exasperated sigh beside him before stopping in his tracks and pulling Race in front of him, keeping him in place by putting hands on both his shoulders. "Look. Racer. I thinks about it because I can't … not think about it." Jack removes his hands from Race's shoulders to remove his own hat and ruffle through his hair, looking anywhere but at Race now.

Race doesn't understand, "Why can't ya just think about something else? It's your head and your thoughts – you control them."

Jack sadly smirks, "It just – it don't work like that Racer. You know how sometimes you has a bad dream and you knows its not real cause the sky ain't ever been green or something like that, but you can't make your brain just stop playin' it?" Race has to think for a moment before slowly nodding. "It's like that."

They stand there in silence for a moment as Race tries to process exactly what Jack's saying. "Is that why yous always diggin' yours nails in to your arm? Is it like pinchin' yourself awake?"

Jack looks down at where he had just been digging his nails in to his arm again, caught in the act, and stuffs both hands back in to his pockets, "I guess. I don't even realize I'm doin' it most of the time."

Again, Race just doesn't understand. He's trying to, he wants to, but none of it makes much sense to him. Looking at Jack, he finds him toying with a rock on the ground with his foot again. He carefully walks forwards to wrap his arms around Jack in some attempt at comfort, knowing he doesn't have the words to do the same.

After a few moments, he feels Jack patting him on the head and he pulls away from the embrace. "So why was ya thinkin' 'bout the Refuge kid?"

Race is taken aback, expecting all discussion on this topic to be closed, "We's don't got ta talk about it. That way ya don't have to think about it no more," he whispers out.

Jack smirks, "Well maybe if we talks about it, you won't have ta think about it no more. Okay?" Race nods. "So what was ya thinkin'?"

"Well," Race hesitates, "You was saying you worried if the bulls came back they'd take me too." He looks to Jack to make sure he hasn't changed his mind and gets a soft nod indicating he should continue. "I was thinking that maybe if ya told me what ta look for and how to get away like you did yesterday, you wouldn't have to worry about me no more."

"I'll always be worryin' about ya Racer," he can barely hear Jack mumble under his breath.

"But you wouldn't have to no more!" Race objects.

Jack slowly starts walking out of the alleyway again and Race hops over to stay by his side. "That's what friends are for Racer. Just like how yous always keepin' me from diggin' my nails in to my arm and givin' me hugs when ya sees I'm sad."

"And like how I gave Spot a hug yesterday? Was that being a good friend?" Race innocently asks.

Jack chuckles, "Well, I don't know if you could say yous friends yet, but yeah that's what friends do. They looks out for each other."

"So…will ya teach me how to get away from the bulls?" Race pauses to process his next thought. "Maybe it would help ya worry a little less?" He suggests.

Jack pauses to sell a pape to a passing man, a kind looking doctor with startling blue eyes who asks him about his split lip. "Oh it ain't nothing," Jack responds, giving the man a smile as he shakes his head in disbelief and walks away with his new pape. Jack looks back to Race afterwards and they continue walking. "There really ain't that much to it," he starts. "You's just got to run as fast as you can until you can't hear them behind ya any more. That's when ya look for a place to hid until yous sure you lost 'em."

Race thinks he can remember that. "That's it? That sounds easy," he smiles.

Jack looks off in the distance, in thought Race thinks, for a moment. "I guess the only other thing is when yous running take as many turns as you can. You know the streets better than they do and that'll help confuse 'em; help you lose the faster."

"I can do that!" Race smiles and skips a little ahead of Jack to guilt a fancy looking lady and her daughter, who doesn't look too much older than Jack or Spot, in to buying a pape. They initially refuse, but he fakes a cough and they end up buying one anyways. He runs back to Jack's side afterwards. "There. Now I knows how ta take care of myself and you don't have to worry 'bout me no more," he smiles back up to his friend.

"Sure thing Racer," Jack smiles as he ruffles his hair again. "Now why don't we stop pausin' and get over to the tracks to see about those horses of ours?"

"Bet I can beat you there!" Race yells as he jumps in to a sprint.

"We'll just have to see about that!" He can hear Jack yelling from behind him.

They eventually make it the racetrack at about the same time, but Race thinks Jack might have let him officially win. He'd pulled ahead of him several times over the last few blocks before eventually just keeping pace at Race's side, but barely behind. He calls Jack out on it, "You let me win."

Jack looks at him with what he thinks is feigned shock, eyes wide and mouth agape, "I did not."

Race glares at his friend, who waves him off and starts hawking papes to the racetrack patrons. Race moves a couple of feet down away from his friend and does the same, eager to empty his bag and try and watch the horses. A few people he recognizes that are quickly becoming regulars come by, some of them joking with him about what horse he'd bet on.

Once his bag is finally empty, Race runs over to Jack, who's sitting on the same brick wall they'd sat on yesterday, picking at his nails. "How do you sell so fast!?" Race exclaims as he jumps up beside him. "You get like twice as many papes as me and still finished first."

"Well if I had to guess, I'd say he's just had more practice than ya," a vaguely familiar voice comes from behind them. Race scrunches his face up in concentration; trying to place whose voice it is, when the person walks around to stand in front of him and Jack.

"Spot!" Race exclaims as he jumps down and embraces him.

Spot doesn't push him away, but doesn't return the hug either. "This how you're gonna greet me every time I see yas?" Race hears Spot ask from above him.

He releases him from the hug and looks up to him as he asks, "Why? Do you not like it? I always hug my friends when I see them and you's my new friend so I want to hug ya-"

"Racer, you's got to remember not everyone's ears can listen as fast as you can talk," Jack's voice chides from beside him.

"Sorry," Race apologizes. "I just forgets and I get excited…" he trails off, not quite sure how to finish and looks up to Spot to see if he's actually going to answer his question.

Spot crosses his arms over his chest and hesitates for a moment before answering, "Nah, it's fine Racer. But it only better be you." He turns to Jack, "Don't you start thinkin' of hugs too."

Jack shrugs, hands stuffed in his pockets, "I'll leave it to Racer. More his thing anyways."

"So what's got you all the way over here?" Jack asks. "Nice shiner by the way." It's not until Jack points it out that Race recognizes the blossoming bruise under and around Spot's left eye.

Spot reaches up to poke at the bruise, as if forgetting it was there, "Eh, thought I'd come see yas since ya said ya like to sell over here. Make sure your leader didn't get too mad at ya for getting back late." He looks to Jack specifically, "Could 'ave been worse. Believes it or not, I thinks it actually helped me sell my papes quicker today. Got all the rich folks' sympathy and what not. Pretty decent sellin' tactic."

"You gonna watch the horses race with us? Mine's gonna win," Race asks. He hopes Spot will stay. He's nice and he doesn't really know too much about his new friend.

"Sure, if that's what yous doing. I cam here ta hang out with yous," Spot answers.

~~~Later that Evening~~~

"Told ya your horse wouldn't even race! It was limping yesterday!" Race exclaims with a broad smile on his face as he, Jack, and Spot walk towards the Brooklyn border.

"The horse could 'ave been fakin' it!" Jack jokes.

"If you seriously believe that, you're more stupid than I thought Jack," Spot spits out, but when Race looks to his newest friend he can tell it is in jest as Spot's actually smiling.

"Hey, I never said I was good at this horse pickin' stuff. That's all Race," Jack argues. "And I still can't believe that horse of yours actually won."

"If you'd had the money to bet on it, you would have come out a rich man," Spot jokes, "The odds on that horse weren't good."

Race shrugs, "Maybe someday. I ain't gonna be a newsie forever you know."

"None of us will kid," Jack says a bit sadly. "None of us knows what comes after either."

"Don't be such a downer Jack," Spot chides. "You's what, nine? You's got forever to figure out what next. Hell, we all do."

They come to a stop at the Brooklyn border, where they'd planned to part ways for the evening.

"Thanks for comin' to hang out with us Spot," Race says as he goes to hug Spot again.

Only to run in to an outstretched arm. "Let's keep it to one hug a day kid, okay?" Race frowns a little in disappointment. "It don't mean I don't like ya kid, I's just not up for too much huggin', okay?"

"Okay," Race dejectedly accepts. He'll get Spot to change his feelings on hugs later; he's only been friends with him for him for two whole days.

"Why don't you guys come over to the Brooklyn boarding house? Some guys from Queens and Bronx come over for cards this time every week. I'd bet you'd be real good at it Race," Spot suggests.

Race really wants to accept, but he looks to Jack, who answers for them, "Sorry Spot, maybe next week? Pickles wants us back on time tonight after yesterday. And I have to admit, I ain't any good at cards and I don't think Racer's ever played."

"I can learn! I want to go!" Race pouts.

"Next week then Racer," Jack sighs.

Spot looks at the pair of them quizzically, "If you's not really up for playin' cards Jack, I can just take Race here next week. I'll meet yous over at the racetracks and sell with ya if ya don't mind then take Racer from there."

Race looks up to Jack to see a hesitant look on his face, "I don't mind ya sellin' with us and I'm sure Race here would like that, but it ain't that I don't trust ya Spot, I just don't want Racer walkin' back to 'hattan by himself afterwards."

"Hey! You tolds me this morning how to get away from the bulls. I can get myself back fine!" Race objects.

Spot gives Jack a look that Race doesn't understand. "I'll walk the squirt back to 'hattan's boarding house then. Elph won't mind." Spot thinks for a moment, "actually might make Stripe walk with us, but I don't care about bothering him."

"Please Jack" Race pleads, tugging on his friend's arm.

"Alright Racer, but only cause I know ya too well and know you'll go on your own otherwise," Jack concedes. "And you's got to be the one to tell Pickles."

Race spits in his hand and extends it to Jack, "Deal."

"You's gonna make me spit shake on this?" Jack almost playfully whines as he spits in to his own hand.

"It's like a promise," Race smiles as they shake hands.

"Well then I'll get in on this too," Spot spits in to his hand and extends it to Jack, who shakes it before shaking with Race.

Jack looks up to the sky afterwards, "It's time for us ta be headin' back," he says as he looks down to Race.

"Oookaaaay," Race whines. "Will we see you tomorrow Spot?"

"Eh, we'll see. There's always Brooklyn stuff that can get in the ways."

"Oh," Race says a bit sadly. "Well we'll definitely see you next week then!" He calls as Jack starts tugging him down towards Manhattan.

Spot simply waves as he turns to walk the other way. Race doesn't want to end like that though. He didn't get to hug his friend goodbye. He pulls away from Jack to run and give Spot a quick hug from behind.

He can hear Spot yelling 'I said one a day Race!' as he runs back to Jack and Manhattan. He thinks Spot isn't really mad. Or it least he hopes he isn't.


	4. A New Routine

**Race**

The morning bell rings and wakes Race from his peaceful sleep. He pushes himself up in to a sitting position and stretches his arms above his head, feeling his neck and back twinge with the movement. Stifling a yawn, he grabs his boots from where he'd wedged them between the wall and his mattress for the evening and tugs them on to his feet. He loosely laces them, hoping that not tying them so tight will make his toes rubbing at the fronts as he walks be less noticeable. He internally huffs, knowing it's not so, but there's not much he can do about it until a bigger pair of boots becomes available, so he pushes the thought away.

Race shifts so his feet are dangling over the edge of his bunk and swings them as he watched his brothers get ready. He's waiting for Jack to move his butt and get up, but his patience is short, so he ends up leaping down before he's seen any sign of Jack being awake.

Once he's solidly on the ground, Race spins around to jump on Jack, who's head is stull stuffed in his pillow and is feigning sleep.

"Hey Racer, let a guy get some sleep, will ya?" Jack whines in to his pillow as Race settles in on his back.

"I tried waiting for you to get up, but you were taking forever," Race whines in response, drawing out the last word as long as possible. When he doesn't get a response, Race decides a challenge is in order, "Bet you can't get up with me on yer back."

Jack breathes hard before pushing up and Race slides off his friend's back. Jack brings his hands to his face to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "Happy now, Racer?" He yawns.

Race leaps off the bed with a smile and rises to tug on his suspenders and throw on his waistcoat. "Yep! You's up now, ain't ya?"

He takes a step back to avoid the weak punch Jack throws at him. "Yeah, yeah, you's just want to get goin' cause it's poker day."

"Nuh-uh," Race denies, sticking his tongue out afterwards.

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Maybe yous just gettin' tired of hangin' with me and you wants to be with Spot then," Jack suggests as Race watches him tug on his boots.

"No!" Race can't deny Jack's doubts fast enough. "You's still my best friend-"

"But…" Jack interrupts and prompts as he finally rises from his bed and pulls on his suspenders.

"I wasn't gonna say anything else," Race denies, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest. He was actually going to say that he doesn't get to see Spot as often as Jack, but his friend doesn't get to have that answer now.

Race carefully watches Jack as he throws on his waistcoat and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. If today was anything like yesterday, it is going to be hot. Jack laughs to himself and Race gives him a confused look.

"What?"

Jack ruffles his hand through Race's hair. "It's fine you wanna hang out with Spot, Racer. You's don't got ta worry about hurtin' my feelings or nothin'." Race hugs Jack. "You don't get ta see 'im too often and he takes ya to do fun things like poker and what nots."

Race finally releases Jack from the hug and the pair start making their way out of the boarding house. "You can always come play with us Jack. Spot ain't gonna care," he hopefully suggests as he has every week for the past year.

And Jack responds the same way he has every time he's asked, "No thanks Racer. I's good-"

Race finished Jack's statement for him, "it's not really my thing blah blah blah." He sidesteps a playful push from Jack.

"Ya knows my answer, yet you keep askin' anyways," Jack smiles.

"Hopin' you'll change your mind eventually," Race smirks.

Before he even realizes it, they've reached the distribution gate, a bit early even. Weasel hasn't even come out with his moneybox yet. Race busies himself with retying his shoes (his toes hurt) while Jack refolds his sleeves so they sit more neatly above his elbows. Race can see some pink crescent marks lining Jack's forearms; scars left from where he'd previously dug in his fingernails. Ironically enough, the sight makes him smile because he can't see any new marks and if Jack's rolling up his sleeves where he can actually see them, they must not be bothering him much right now either. Jack being happy makes him happy.

The other newsies slowly trickle in through the distribution gates and start forming a line. Race jumps in line behind Jack and they slowly queue through and purchase their papes from Weasel, who, as always, makes snide comments about their nickname for him.

Race skips beside Jack as they exit the distribution gates and start making the trek towards the racetracks. It's a good selling day and he's clearing out his bag fairly quickly. He excitedly thinks he might even be able to sell them all by the time they get there, but he won't. He's making sure to hold on to a couple for his regulars.

Sure enough, he's right. By the time they reach the racetracks, all that's in his bag are the couple of papes for his regulars. He'll always make sure to save papes for them because they talk to him about the horses and betting like he's a person and not just some orphan newsie. He jumps up on the brick wall to wait for them to arrive. Jack stays at the sidewalk, hawking off the ambitious number of papes he'd bought this morning.

"What yous sitting around for?" A voice comes from behind him.

"Spot!" Race yells before jumping down and hugging his friend. It's been a year and he hasn't started hugging back, but he's stopped pushing him away. Race thinks it is progress.

"Where's Kelly?" Spot asks over his head, as Race still has him wrapped in his embrace. "He didn't let ya walk all the way over here by yourself did he?"

"Pfffft" Race spits out as he releases Spot from his hug. "'Course not."

"Do you really think so little of me Spotty?" Jack asks as he walks up to the pair. Race's eyes widens when he sees how few papes Jack has left. He still doesn't know how his friend does it.

"Kelly, if I've told ya once, I've told ya a thousand times-" Spot growls.

"Spotty, if you've told me a thousand times, I's chosen to ignore ya a thousand times," Jack interrupts.

"Kelly-" Spot growls again.

"Spotty-" Jack laughs.

Race shakes his head at his friends as they continue arguing over nicknames. They are too alike. Maybe that's why they're both his friends though. He tugs at Spot's sleeve; "Spot-" to no avail, so he turns to Jack and tries with him, but it's like neither of them even notice his presence even more.

"Kelly, it's Spot or Conlon. Those are your two choices. Pick one," Spot threatens and stabs Jack with his finger.

Jack laughs in response, "Look Spotty. The day I call you Spot or Conlon is the day there's something wrong so ya mise as well give up now. Anyways, I's asked ya ta just call me Jack as many times as yous asked me to not call ya Spotty and you's not changed."

Spot just growls in response while Jack laughs. Race wants to join in Jack's laughter, but thinks better of it. If he makes Spot mad, then he might not take him to play poker later

After a few more moments of tense silence, Spot removes his finger from Jack's chest. "Why don't ya just get out of here now Kelly and leaves us be?"

It's Jack's turn to cross his arms over his chest and glare, "Try makin' me, Spotty. This ain't Brooklyn."

"Wells then I'll just have ta make it Brooklyn when I's the leader round there just so I can keep ya out," Spot smiles and matches Jack's pose.

Race's heart stops. If the racetracks became Brooklyn and he was Manhattan then, "Spot! What bout me?" He can feel tears forming in the edge of his eyes at the prospect of being kicked out of his favorite selling spot.

Spot unfolds his arms to ruffle Race's hair. "Nah, you's fine. Just Kelly that'll have ta stay in 'hattan." Race smiles. Jack rolls his eyes.

Jack huffs. "Fine Spotty, I'll leave ya with Racer then." He then looks to Race, ignoring Spot entirely, "Ya good Racer?"

"Yes Jack," he whines. He loves Jack like a brother, but his protection can be suffocating sometimes. Well actually, the alternative of having no one looking out for him doesn't really seem all that great, so he pushes his annoyances to the back of his mind.

Jack puts a hand on his shoulder, "Don't spend all your earnings and I'll see ya later, okay?"

Race playfully shoves Jack's hand off his shoulder, "Hey! I always come home with more than I goes with."

"Yeah, you's got some crazy knack for poker, kid," Spot smirks down to Race.

Race smiles and puffs out his chest with pride, "I's better than everyone else there and they's know it, but they still keeps playin' against me anyways."

"Boastin' like that's gonna get ya soaked kid," Spot smirks.

"Spotty-" Jack warily begins.

Spot waves Jack off, "He's fine Kelly. I's watchin' out for him. Now get out of Brooklyn."

"It ain't B-. Nevermind. See ya later Racer," Jack calls as he starts making his way back towards Manhattan, hands stuffed in his pockets. Race wonders where he's going and makes a mental note to ask him later. He's never bothered to ask Jack where he sells when he leaves him with Spot.

Race turns to Spot, "Why's ya always gotta argue with 'im?"

"He asks for it. Anyways, I's more likely ta be able ta take care of ya if we run in ta trouble," Spot smirks.

Race will admit that Spot's probably right at this point. Since he and Jack had found him in the alley last year, he'd definitely put on some muscle. And he was still taller than Jack. He at least looked intimidating. But Jack was smart and taught him how to get away from the bulls, so he's not really sure.

"How many papes you have left," Race asks, changing the subject.

Spot looks down and leafs through the remaining papers in his bag, "'Bout twenty. You?"

"Just a couple I saved for my regulars," Race smiles.

"So we'll be done 'bout an hour or so then," Spot concludes. "That means we'll have time when we's done sellin' ta do somethin' before poker starts."

Race takes a moment to sell one of his saved papes to a regular, "saved it just for you sir", before questioning Spot with a raised eyebrow, "Like what?"

"I don't know, I was thinkin' maybe we ought to try some ice cream or something," Spot teases, holding up a shiny dime.

"Really?" Race smiles, the prospect of a treat making his mouth water.

"Sure, soon as we get rid of all our papes," Spot shrugs, trying to act like he doesn't care, but Race can tell he's hiding a smile.

Later, after all their papes are gone and they sit on a curb licking away at their ice cream cones, Race thinks to ask, "Spot, are we friends?"

Spot gives him a weird look, and for a moment Race fears he might say no. "Sure we are Racer, why ya askin'?"

Race shrugs as he takes another lick of his sweet treat, "Jus' realized I've been thinkin' of ya as a friend and I hadn't asked ya."

Spot wraps his free arm around Race's shoulder, "Definitely friends kid." Race smiles. "Wouldn't put up with ya otherwise."

"Hey!" Race yells, playfully shoving his friend away, but Spot lurches so that his nose dips in his ice cream. Race can't help but laughing.

Spot laughs too as he rubs the ice cream from his nose on to his shirt. "I's just kiddin' Race. 'Course yous my friend."

* * *

Thank you for reading! Reviews are much appreciated and loved.


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